To be a legend, you generally had to be dead.

Dropping her hand, she turned in his arms. Then, rising up on tiptoe, she cupped his face in her palms and drew him down. Her kiss was innocent, vulnerable, a caress so gentle that it made him her slave between one breath and the next.

Do you think you have the right to give me orders now?" The Archangel of New York, a creature so lethal that part of her feared him even now, lifted the hair off her nape, brushed his lips across her skin. "Of course. You are mine." No hint of humor, nothing but stark possession. "I don't think you've quite got the hang of this true love thing.

Some things were worth the dance with danger.

Death holds no allure for me, Elena.” The power of him cut against his skin, a cold white fire. “Not when I have yet to sate my hunger for you.

Voles-tu, mon petit papillon.” Illium laughed at Galen’s instruction to “fly, little butterfly

Your weapons-master appears to have an actual, beating heart," she said to Raphael. "Who knew?" "Jessamy." "I concede that point." Elena referring to Galen